


If I was dying on my knees (You would be the one to rescue me)

by Dracomalfoyy



Series: 23 Ways To Say I Love You [5]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (caramel frappucino), Bruce Banner & Clint Barton Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Deaf Clint Barton, Hurt Bruce Banner, Hurt Clint Barton, Or coffee, ive been writing this for over four hours, ive forgotten where the letters are on my keyboard, send help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 05:15:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21221171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracomalfoyy/pseuds/Dracomalfoyy
Summary: Prompt 5 - things you didn't say at all(all prompts stolen from eversncenewyork on tumblr)Title is from 'Brother' by Kodaline





	If I was dying on my knees (You would be the one to rescue me)

It wasn't common for Clint to pair up with Bruce. The first time it happened, it had ended in three broken bones (all Clint's), a panic attack (Bruce), 300 bees and a year-long ban from Canada. The second time, because no one could learn from their mistakes, it ended in a concussion that for once didn't belong to Clint after a pretty spectacular bar fight they'd had. Clint was 40% sure they'd started the fight, but he couldn't be definite. He'd lost his hearing aids hours earlier and lipreading German was a whole other skill. 

It wasn't surprising that 'third time lucky' didn't apply to the two avengers.

They'd all been paired off and sent to different countries as part of a team-building exercise that was 'vital to the safety of the public'. Clint and Bruce were flying over the Atlantic Ocean, playing Jenga with whatever they could pile up on the jet. Clint delicately pulled a stray combat boot out of the pile, placing it back on top of the half-broken DVD player. Clint knew he had steady hands and unreal jet jenga skills. Bruce was a dead man. Before Bruce had even touched the empty chocolate box he was heading towards, the tower collapsed, leaving a pile of junk on the floor. The two men looked at each other, before standing up and rushing to the front of the jet. 

Autopilot had been a bit dodgy since DUM-E's last tantrum when he'd thrown himself to the floor over and over again. It had sent JARVIS into a seemingly human parental breakdown and he was still working his way out of the spiral. Tony had assured everyone he was working on it. Clint slid into the pilot's seat, pressing random buttons that Bruce didn't know existed. Hopefully, Clint would sort out this little hiccup and they would be playing jet jenga again in no time. The visor on the front window opened, and the two avengers were met with the ground rushing towards them. Clint knew instantly that he had a very small chance of pulling the jet back up before they crashed. He glanced back at Bruce, noticing the scientist's hands anxiously clutching the hem of his shirt. He was scared, for good reason. As much as Clint hated it, he had to try to give Bruce some hope. 

"I can pull it up," he lied, eyes trained on the controls. "It ain't gonna be pretty though so you need to go to the chamber now." Bruce stood completely still, absorbing Clint's words. 

"Bruce!" Clint yelled. He jolted, stumbling as he made his way to the back of the jet. The chamber was a room with reinforced windows, floors and ceilings that Tony created for any potential hulk outbursts in the air. It was strong enough to hold the hulk but light enough for the jet to fly easily. A light flicked on in front of Clint, notifying him that the chamber had been secured by a password lock. Relief and dread flooded Clint's veins. Bruce was safe and stood a fair chance of surviving. Clint, on the other hand, he knew that he could have gone with Bruce but then the jet would hit heavy and no amount of reinforcement would save his life. At least here, he could try to land the jet properly and minimize the damage. He strapped himself into the pilot's seat and braced for impact, yanking up on the controls. 

Bruce woke up with a panicked gasp, his vision blurry. Clint had ordered him to the back of the jet and that was the last thing he'd heard before impact. He'd told Bruce that he could pull the jet up but it was an obvious lie. They'd been so close to the ground already. Yet, he was still alive. Surely, if Clint had crashed the plane they'd both be dead? 

He felt around for his glasses, stumbling across them close to the door. He was still in the chamber, which wasn't at all damaged from the crash. Tony had made a lot of incredible things, Ultron discounted, but this was one of his finest creations. It saved his life. If he hadn't been in it when the jet crashed, he'd probably be a fond memory. Panic seized Bruce as he remembered Clint. He wasn't in the safest place possible when they'd crashed, he was at the front of the goddamn jet. Bruce hurried towards the door, pushing the code into the keypad and shouldering his way through the heavy metal door.

The wreck that was formerly the quinjet lay around him. Small fires let off smoke as twisted metal and screws littered the ground. Puddles of fuel ran across the floor, alerting Bruce to the fact that this situation could become much worse very fast. 

"Clint!" Bruce called out. He stumbled over part of the wings, hitting the ground suddenly. A wave of nausea washed over him. Right. He'd probably hit his head during the crash. Concussion. It took a lot of willpower to push himself off the floor but he had to. Clint lay somewhere in the mess, and Bruce doubted that he'd escaped with just a concussion. Ten minutes later, Bruce had both of Clint's now broken hearing aids, but no Clint. If he didn't get Clint back, Natasha would definitely kill him. Hulk or no hulk. Bucky would probably hold him down for her. Bruce groaned, almost praying for anything when he saw a limp body still strapped into the pilot's seats. A litany of curses fell out of his mouth as he jogged over to Clint. 

The archer was unresponsive, cold and pale. Bruce didn't even know how long it had been since they crashed. He didn't know how long Clint had been out here like this. Bruce was afraid to move him but they weren't safe out in the open. There were fumes and threats that Bruce couldn't protect them from. Not while Clint was like this. He needed to get him back to the chamber. It was enclosed and impenetrable. Safe. He inched forward, wincing as he undid Clint's belt. Without an x-ray or team of medics, he truly had no idea how Clint was doing. For all he knew, he could be making things worse. But he had to do something. 

It took him near an hour but eventually, he had Clint, some non-burnt blankets, all the medical supplies he could salvage, any food he could salvage and little pieces he might need in the chamber. Clint definitely had some internal bleeding, maybe a punctured lung or some broken ribs. His face was all cut up, littered with pieces of glass from the jet window. Bruce could see that his left wrist was broken. Realistically, he needed Clint to wake up and tell him what hurt. It looked more unlikely as time went by. 

Last time they had run this simulation, it had taken just under two hours for rescue to arrive. Bruce was confident they'd be safe soon but so much could go wrong so quickly. He would really rather be taking a live archer back to his team. Bruce was torn from his thoughts by a quiet groan. Clint's eyes fluttered open, hazy and filled with pain. 

‘Jet crashed. Safe. Waiting for help. What hurts?’

Bruce signed his words slowly, hoping Clint was coherent enough to understand him. The chamber was dark, lit dimly with the few emergency light sticks Bruce had salvaged. 

‘Everything. You okay?’

Clint fingerspelled his reply slowly, using just his bloodstained right hand. Bruce nodded, tucking an extra blanket around his teammate. 

‘Concussion. All good. Thank you.’

As soon as they got back to safety, Bruce was gonna make sure he thanked Clint properly. Maybe with pizza, or a get-out-of-medical-free card. 

‘Tony? Take shifts. I’ll go first.’

Clint signed shakily, wincing. His fingers looked pretty broken. If they didn't set them in time, it could seriously affect his life and his future. 

Bruce took in the sight of the archer, covered nearly everywhere in blood and bruises yet still absolutely sure of what he was signing. There was a determination in his gaze that made Bruce think Clint was blaming himself for the quinjet crashing. His guilt complex was vast, surely something that began years and years ago with his father, maybe his brother. Bruce would be damned if he became just another person who Clint thought he'd let down. 

"No. Nope. Nada. Absolutely not. You are gonna stay exactly where you are and do exactly what I say. You are injured, Clint! Badly! You need to stay down for once in your life. Please." Bruce couldn't even pretend not to be stressed. Clint was badly bruised all over his torso. He probably had serious internal bleeding and there wasn't a thing that Bruce could do. It was possible that his friend would die out here in the middle of nowhere, stuck in a cold, dark metal room. If the roles had been reversed, Clint would have made a fire, or a better light, or treated his serious injuries. He would be cool and collected and keep Bruce calm until they got rescued, which he would ensure happened by piecing together some random metal and wires into a radio to contact the team. So far, all Bruce had actually done was make things worse. 

Clint tried to push himself up, sensing Bruce's internal panic. He gasped loudly as a sharp pain overtook his left side. He distantly knew it was the familiar pain of a punctured lung as he dropped back down to the floor heavily, startling Bruce from his thoughts. Clint was scarily still on the floor, pulling in shallow breaths desperately. Air seemed to be non-existent as he willed himself to breathe. Bruce frantically ran around the chamber. He didn't have anything he could use to perform field surgery. He couldn't afford to leave Clint to look for anything. Plus, anything he might find would not be sterile and infection on top of everything else was a death sentence. He was gonna have to sit and watch his friend, who had just saved his life, suffocate to death. Tears streamed down his face as he realised he was helpless. He had 7 PhD's and he couldn't keep his friend breathing for long enough to survive. Maybe, if he just hadn't moved Clint in the first place, none of this would have happened. Bruce settled down on the floor next to Clint, switching from signing to tapping out morse code on the archer's shoulder.

S O R R Y 

C A N T H E L P 

S O R R Y 

Clint shifted his hand as he struggled to breathe, moving it onto his knee. He tapped out a small word.

O K A Y 

Clint passed out as the door to the chamber swung open, revealing Tony and a team of medics. Bruce decided that this was probably the best time for him to pass out too. 

Four weeks later, Clint cornered Bruce in the communal kitchen. He'd been out of medbay for less than a week, and out of his medically induced coma for less than two. Bruce had been the only person who hadn't visited over the weeks. He'd tried, but the sight of his friend so still and covered in tubes and wires made him throw up in the corridor. The jet had gone down due to an opportunistic assassination attempt from a bitter civilian who lost their home during New York. Tony had noticed the issue before the jet had even gone down, but all communications were jammed and he couldn't warn his teammates in time. He'd gotten to them as fast as humanly possible, just in time to save Clint's life. Something that Bruce hadn't been able to do. Bruce was expecting to see hatred in Clint's eyes, so he was pleasantly surprised by the clarity they held. 

"You know that I don't blame you in any way for this right?" Bruce bowed his head, lacing his fingers together nervously as he whispered. 

"If I hadn't been on the plane you'd have been able to escape before it crashed." Clint leaned against the wall in a way that his doctors definitely wouldn't approve of. 

"Yeah, and if some guy hadn't hijacked the jet, we'd have finished our game of jet jenga. Shit happens Bruce. You can't control that." Bruce nodded, trying to take in Clint's words. Life was unpredictable and Clint was right. He couldn't control that. He just had to deal with what life handed to him. 

"Look, I'm not gonna tell you not to feel guilty because like me you have a guilt complex the size of Russia. Just don't let this stupid, unnecessary guilt weigh you down." Clint squeezed his shoulder with his non-casted hand, strolling off down the corridor towards his room. 

Later that night, Clint received a large pizza, a booklet of get-out-of-medical-free cards, and a game of jenga. Clint resolved to send him a copy of 'field surgery for dummies' in a few days. When everything was a bit less raw. Bruce would definitely see the humour in it, right?

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I've been gone a while... 
> 
> The good news is that I have actually written the majority of these  
They just need tweaking a bit 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you've all had a good month or two!!!!
> 
> Thank you for the kudos/comments, they really do mean the world :))
> 
> See ya next time <3
> 
> As always, bully me on tumblr —> clintbartonsbitch

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bees?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019496) by [Dracomalfoyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracomalfoyy/pseuds/Dracomalfoyy)


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